


Maybe Tomorrow

by Ashlantiss



Category: N/A - Fandom
Genre: Other, Rape, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:20:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29024112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashlantiss/pseuds/Ashlantiss
Summary: Hello, as a premise this is not a true story. This is purely fictitious but this had been building up in my mind of a while so I decided to write it all down. It is a very short story but I think it's an empowering piece of writing. Make sure you are okay with the following trigger warningstw:- mentions of rape- mentions of sexual abuse- cursing- underagejust generally distressing so please read at your own risk(the only tags I'm putting on this are as trigger warnings so I don't think anyone will find this, but it's here)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	Maybe Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, as a premise this is not a true story. This is purely fictitious but this had been building up in my mind of a while so I decided to write it all down. It is a very short story but I think it's an empowering piece of writing. Make sure you are okay with the following trigger warnings
> 
> tw:  
> \- mentions of rape  
> \- mentions of sexual abuse  
> \- cursing  
> \- underage
> 
> just generally distressing so please read at your own risk  
> (the only tags I'm putting on this are as trigger warnings so I don't think anyone will find this, but it's here)

You’ve never told anyone. You can’t. You constantly wonder why you swore to yourself to never say a word. But you know how it would go. There’ve been late nights where you imagine what the conversation would go like. No one would believe you. Besides it’s been too long since it actually happened. 2 months and 3 days, not that you’re counting. You think maybe one day, six months will have passed and you’ll forget the way his touch left residue on your skin. One that you haven’t been able to get rid of no matter how many times you shower and scrub. The bruises on your body have faded with time but you can still see them when you close your eyes. Maybe one day you’ll no longer be able to hear his voice when he commanded you to stop struggling. When he called you  _ his little slut.  _ You’re never going to stop struggling. You want so badly to stop thinking about it. And yet, it plagues your mind. 

No one would believe you, or if they did, you know they’d pester you with dumb questions like, “Well what were you wearing? Where were you?” Even though you’ve deleted  _ every last _ photo from that night, you remember exactly what you wore. It wasn’t your fault. You know that. But maybe if your shirt hadn’t been so low cut, your skirt so short, your leggings so sheer. Maybe then. 

Painful details are seared into your retinas. You remember not so painful details like the quizzical look your mom gave you when she found the clothes in the garbage, when you played it off simply as clothing you outgrew when in all honesty, it had outgrown you. Turned you into a woman for others to ogle at when you just wanted to be the best looking version of yourself. The day the trash was taken out you almost thought you had imagined it, but you knew that was just wishful thinking. 

Your legs go numb as you replay frantically picking yourself off the ground after you waited long enough for him to leave. To be out of view, out of earshot. How you didn’t even give yourself time to finish crying, the way the tears and snot dripped down your face. You quickly wiped them away as your shaky legs carried you to the nearest CVS. You had grabbed plan B and a pregnancy test and you remember the disdainful look the cashier had given you. You knew they thought you were too young to be having sex. If only they knew. At least it had been a negative test the next day. When you had cried tears of happiness and thrown the test far into the woods. You knew it was littering but your parents finding it would have meant too much explaining you weren’t ready for.

How much have you lost because of that day? Days worth of sleep. Your innocence. Your pride. Your dignity. Your virginity. Your body is no longer a virgin. But you’d like to think that you are. You’d like to hold onto that small sliver of your childhood. That small piece of yourself.

And so as you fall asleep, your thoughts running wild and your breathing labored. You think, maybe tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow you’ll be brave enough.


End file.
